Outward Bound Or, Young America Afloat: A Story of Travel and Adventure by Optic (popular e readers .TXT) 📗

"I know you do; but you can't tell within five knots how fast the ship is going," laughed the boatswain. "Let's do it right a few times, and then you can be trusted."

The quartermaster took the glass, and Gordon, then officer of the watch, the chip, which he cast into the water over the stern of the ship.

"Turn!" said he, when the stray line had run out.

Now, Smith, at this particular moment, was watching a vessel over the quarter, and he did not instantly {108} turn the glass, as he should have done; but Peaks said nothing.

"Up!" cried the quartermaster, when the sand had all run through the glass.

Gordon stopped the reel from which the line was running out, and noted the mark.

"Seven knots," said he.

"Not right," replied the boatswain, sharply. "This ship is going nine or ten knots an hour, and any man who has snuffed salt water for six months could guess nearer than you make it. Now try it once again, and if you don't hit nearer than that next time, you may as well throw the reel overboard, and hire a Yankee to guess the rate of sailing."

"I thought we knew all about it," added Smith.

"I think you do, young gentlemen; but you were star-gazing when you ought to have been all attention. The line ran out two or three knots before you turned the glass."

Gordon took the chip again. It was a thin piece of board, in the form of a quarter circle. The round side was loaded with just lead enough to make it float upright in the water. The log-line was fastened to the chip, just us a boy loops a kite, two strings being attached at each end of the circular side, while the one at the angle is tied to a peg, which is inserted in a hole, just hard enough to keep it in place, while there is no extra strain on the board, but which can be drawn out with a smart pull. When the log-line has run out as far as desired, there would be some difficulty in hauling in the chip while it was upright in the water; but a sudden jerk draws the peg at the angle, and {109} permits the board to lie flat, in which position the water offers the least resistance to its passage.

The half-minute glass used on board the Young America, held by the quartermaster, was like an hour glass, and contained just sand enough to pass through the hole in the neck in thirty seconds. The log-line was one hundred and fifty fathoms in length, and was wound on a reel, which turned very easily, so that the resistance of the chip to the water would unwind it. The log-line is divided into certain spaces called knots, the length of each of which is the same fractional part of a mile that a half minute is of an hour. If there be sixty-one hundred and twenty feet in a nautical mile, or the sixtieth part of a degree of a great circle, which is not far from accurate, and the ship be going ten knots an hour, she will run sixty-one thousand two hundred feet in an hour. If the chip were thrown overboard at eight o'clock, and the line were long enough, the ship would have run out sixty-one thousand two hundred feet, or ten miles, at nine o'clock, or in one hour. In one minute she would run one sixtieth of sixty-one thousand two hundred feet, which is ten hundred and twenty feet; in half a minute, five hundred and ten feet.

The half-minute glass is the measure of time generally used in heaving the log. While the sand is dropping through, the line runs out five hundred and ten feet, the ship going ten knots an hour being the basis of the calculation. One knot, therefore, will be fifty-one feet. If the line pays out five hundred and ten feet in thirty seconds, by the glass, the ship is going ten knots an hour. If it pays out four hundred {110} and eight feet in half a minute, or eight hundred and sixteen feet in a minute, she will pay out a mile in as many minutes as eight hundred and sixteen feet is contained in sixty-one hundred and twenty feet, which is seven and a half minutes. Then the ship goes a mile in seven and a half minutes, or eight miles an hour.

A knot on the log-line is therefore invariably fifty-one feet; and the number of knots of the line run out in half a minute indicates also the ship's speed per hour, for fifty-one feet is the same part of a nautical mile that half a minute is of an hour. The calculations are given without allowances, merely to show the principle; and both the glass and the line are modified in practice.

On board the Young America, ten fathoms were allowed for "stray line;" this length of line being permitted to run out before the measuring commenced, in order to get the chip clear of thee eddies in the wake of the ship. The ten fathoms were indicated by a white rag, drawn through the line; and when the officer paying out comes to this mark, he orders the quartermaster to turn the glass, and the operation actually begins. At every fifty-one feet (or forty-seven and six tenths, making the allowances) there is a mark—a bit of leather, or two or more knots. The instant the sands have all run through the glass, the quartermaster says, "Up," and the officer notes the mark to which the line has run out. Half and quarter knots are indicated on the line.

"Now, quartermaster, mind your eye. When the officer of the deck says, 'Turn,' you repeat the word {111} after him, to show that you are alive," continued Peaks.

"Ready!" said Gordon.

"Ready!" replied Smith.

The lieutenant threw the chip into the water, and when the stray line had run off, he gave the word to turn the glass.

"Turn!" repeated Smith.

Gordon eased off the log-line, so that nothing should prevent it from running easily.

"Up!" shouted Smith; and Gordon stopped the line.

"Very well," added Peaks. "What's the mark?"

"Ten and a quarter," replied the officer.

"That sounds more like it. I knew this ship was going more than seven knots. You see, young gentlemen, you can't catch flies and tend the log-line at the same time. Now, you may try it over again."

The experiment was repeated, with the same result. Other officers and seamen were called to the quarter-deck, and the training in heaving the log continued, until a reasonable degree of proficiency was attained.

"Land ho!" cried the lookout on the top-gallant forecastle, at about eleven o'clock in the forenoon.

"Where away?" called the officer of the deck.

"Dead ahead, sir."

"What is that land, Mr. Lowington?" asked Paul Kendall.

"Don't you know?"

"I'm sure I don't." {112}

"Then you should study your map more. Look at the compass, and tell me how she heads."

"South-east, sir," replied Paul, after looking into the binnacle.

"Now, what land lies south-east of Brockway Harbor?" asked the principal.

"Cape Cod, I think."

"You are right; then that must be Cape Cod."

"Is it, really?"

"Certainly it is," laughed Mr. Lowington. "Have you no faith in your map?"

"I didn't think we could be anywhere near Cape Cod. I thought it was farther off," added Paul, who seemed to be amazed to think they had actually crossed Massachusetts Bay.

"The land you see is Race Point, which is about forty miles from the entrance to the bay, at the head of which Brockway is located. We have been making about ten knots an hour, and our calculations seem to be very accurate. By one o'clock we shall come to anchor in Provincetown Harbor."

This prediction was fully verified, and the Young America was moored off the town. Those who had been seasick recovered as soon as the motion of the ship ceased; and when everything aloft and on deck had been made snug, the crew were piped to dinner.

In the afternoon, part of the students were permitted to go on shore; the band played, and several boat-races took place, very much to the delight of the people on shore, as well as those on board. At six o'clock the ship was opened for the reception of visitors, who came off in large numbers to inspect {113} the vessel. After dark there was a brilliant display of fireworks, and the Young America blazed with blue-lights and Roman candles, set off by boys on the cross-trees, and at the yard-arms. At ten the festivities closed, and all was still in the steerage and on deck.

The next morning, the ship got under way, and stood out of the harbor, bound for Brockway again. She had a light breeze, and a smooth time, and the boys had the satisfaction of seeing every rag of canvas spread, including studding-sails alow and aloft; but it was not till after dark that the ship came to anchor at her former moorings.

Wilton and Monroe were released from confinement in the morning, and permitted to go on deck. Whatever their shipmates might have said, they felt that they had been severely punished, especially as they had failed in their runaway expedition. Wilton did not feel any more kindly towards Shuffles when he was released than when he had been ordered to his room. He felt that his late crony had been a traitor, and he was unable to take any higher view of the circumstances.

"Wilton," said Mr. Lowington, when he met the runaway on deck, the day after the Fourth, "I told you that you had made a mistake. Do you believe it yet?"

"I suppose I do, sir."

"You suppose you do! Don't you know?"

"Yes, sir, I think I did make a mistake," replied Wilton, who found it very hard to acknowledge the fact.{114}

"I do not refer to your punishment, when I allude to the consequences of your misdeed, for that was very light. You have fallen very low in the estimation of your superiors."

"Do you mean Mr. Shuffles, sir?"

"I did not mean the officers exclusively, though I believe they have a proper respect for the discipline of the ship."

"I don't think Shuffles need to say anything."

"He hasn't said anything."

"He is worse than I am."

"Shuffles has done very well, and merits the approbation of the principal and the instructors."

"They don't know him as well as I do," growled Wilton.

"They probably know him better. Your remarks do not exhibit a proper spirit towards an officer. He defeated your plan to escape, but he did no more than his duty. He would have been blamed, perhaps punished, if he had done any less."

"I don't find any fault with him for doing his duty, but I don't like to be snubbed by one who is worse than I am. If you knew what I know, sir, you would turn him out of the after cabin."

"Then it is fortunate for him that I don't know what you know," replied Mr. Lowington, sternly. "If you wish to injure him in my estimation, you will not succeed."

"He is going to get up a mutiny one of these days. He told me all about it," continued Wilton, desperately, when he found that the principal was in no mood to listen to his backbiting. {115}

"That will do, Wilton? I don't wish to hear anything more about that matter. Your testimony against Shuffles, under present circumstances, is not worth the breath you use in uttering it."

"I thought it was my duty to tell you, if any one was trying to get up a mutiny."

"You did not think so; you are telling me this story to revenge yourself against the third lieutenant for his fidelity. Whether there is, or is not, any truth in what you say, I shall take no notice of it."

"It is all true, sir. He did speak to me about getting up a mutiny, locking up the professors, taking the ship, and going round Cape Horn; and he will not deny it."

"He will have no opportunity to deny it to me, for I shall not mention the subject to him. Go to your duty, and remember that you have injured yourself more than Shuffles by this course."

Wilton hung his head, and went forward, cheated of his revenge, and disconcerted by the rebuke he had received.

Mr. Lowington was quite willing to believe that Shuffles had talked about a mutiny, while he was in the steerage, but there was at least no present danger of an extravagant scheme being put into operation. He understood Shuffles perfectly; he knew that his high office and his ambition were his only incentives to fidelity in the discharge of his duty; but he had fairly won his position, and he was willing to let him stand or fall by his own merits. He was not a young man of high moral principle, as Paul Kendall, and Gordon, and Carnes were; but the discipline of the {116} ship was certainly doing wonders for him, though it might ultimately fail of its ends.

The ship came to anchor, the band